Playing Doctor
by Mystearica676
Summary: A plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. Bellamy is injured and it's up to Clarke to patch him up, which will of course involve arguing, swearing, conflict, and maybe something more... A meeting of the minds between my two favorite characters during which they learn something about each other, and themselves. Rated M mostly for language and some lemony-scented adult situations.


_**DISCLAIMER:**__ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by __Kass Morgan, Jason Rothenberg, __and The CW. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

The scream echoed through the camp, sudden and shrill. Bellamy's eyes shot automatically to his sister, and he was relieved to find her where she'd been told to stack firewood, miraculously following his orders for once. She looked at him wide-eyed and startled, then dropped her branches and ran with him toward the edge of the forest.

Arriving at a small clearing amidst the thinner growth of the forest surrounding the base camp, they found two of the older boys - what were their names again? – standing over Finn, lying on the ground. He was bleeding profusely from a nasty looking head wound. He appeared unconscious, and Clarke was crouched over him protectively, shielding him from whatever-the-hell-their-names-were. She alternated between shouting at the guys and talking to Finn, stroking his cheek and holding the edge of her jacket over his injury. Blood pooled around her, soaking the knees of her jeans and her sneakers, staining the grass. It was a lot of blood. Not a good sign.

"What the hell are you doing?" the shout came from Octavia, who was already striding toward the two guys. "That's Clarke's bag!" She made to grab the satchel away, but the taller one pulled it away from her.

"It's ours now, baby. But if you're nice to us, maybe we'll share." He winked at her, while his partner looked over at Bellamy and the crowd gathering behind him. The shorter, light-haired boy paled and tugged at his buddy's shirt, mumbling something Bellamy couldn't hear. The message was plain enough, because Tall Guy spun to look over at Bellamy, fear coming into his eyes as the gravity of the situation finally sunk in. He started rambling. "Hey, man, didn't see you there. Umm, your sister can have this, no problem." He shoved the bag at Octavia and backed away a few steps. "No problem at all. Shit just got a little intense here for a minute, and…" When Bellamy just looked at him coldly, he gulped and trailed off.

Bellamy crossed his arms and looked at Octavia, who by that time was crouching down by Finn, satchel clutched in her arms. "What happened?" he spoke for the first time, directing his question at the blonde girl kneeling next to his sister.

Clarke shrugged out of her jacket and carefully placed Octavia's hands over the material to keep pressure on Finn's wound. Then she shot to her feet, a hundred and some odd pounds of fury. "These idiots thought we had food. I told them we'd only been gathering more herbs and seaweed, but Nitro grabbed at my bag anyway." Nitro being the taller one, Bellamy remembered now. Dumbass name. "And…" Clarke blushed, "… he grabbed some other things, too. That's when Finn shoved him away and told him to leave me alone. Then Travis" she pointed at the shorter one "hit him in the head with a rock!"

Short Guy Travis began shaking his head and backing away towards the forest. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hit him so hard. I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he mumbled over and over again.

"You," Bellamy pointed at him, "Shut up, and you," Bellamy pointed at the taller boy, "Nitro. Were you trying to steal medical supplies from the camp?"

"No, man, I thought it was food and…"

"Were you trying to rape a girl?" Bellamy steamrollered over the boy's even louder "No!" "Yeah, I didn't think you were, because there's no way you'd try something like that. You couldn't possibly be that stupid."

"… no rules," Travis was muttering now. "There are no rules, you said so yourself!" He shrank back as Bellamy's eyes locked in on him.

"You're right," he replied simply, and the kid blinked and stood up a little straighter. "I said there were no rules. But I never said there were no consequences." The kid looked puzzled, and Bellamy ignored him, turning back to face the large group of kids behind him. "Just because there are no official laws down here doesn't mean that any sort of sexual assault is going to be tolerated. There are plenty of willing girls around, and if there aren't, well, tough shit for you. Stealing medicine from the camp is also not going to be tolerated. We need that for all of us. And attacking our only healer in any way is also not going to be tolerated, because it's a fucking stupid thing to do. Can anyone else set a bone around here? Make sleeping tea? Put in stitches? No? I didn't think so. These aren't rules, just my own personal…_ suggestions_. If you choose to ignore them, you'd better be ready to face the consequences." He nodded at Murphy and a group of his boys, beckoning them over. "Tie those two up in the trees. No food or water for two days."

Nitro and his buddy were already panicking and running, but Murphy's gang caught them easily and started dragging them away. "Come on, man!" Nitro yelled. "We can't go two days without water!"

If he thought Bellamy would have mercy on him, he was out of luck. "Then you'd better hope it rains."

XXXXX

Back at camp, Bellamy helped carry Finn up to the ship, setting him down on a pallet next to Jasper. The wound on his head had stopped bleeding, but it still looked bad, and the boy was very pale. "Is he going to make it?" he asked Clarke, who was busy washing her hands in some hot water Octavia had brought. She shot him a glare, and he raised an eyebrow.

"He's going to be fine," she said, shoving him out of her way. "You hear me, Finn? You're going to be just fine. Head wounds bleed a lot, but the cut's not too deep. I'm going to clean and poultice it. I don't think it needs any stitches. Ok?"

At that point, Bellamy didn't know if she was talking to him or Finn, but he replied anyway. "Yeah, well, sounds good to me. You're the doctor."

She gave him a withering glance. "I'm no more a real doctor than you are. I've just worked with my mom a lot over the years and learned a bit about healing. Now can you get out of here? Your giant looming body is blocking all my light."

Octavia giggled from where she was sitting by Jasper, and he scowled at her. Traitor. Bellamy looked down at the boy with his sister. At least Jasper was quiet now, sleeping, no longer moaning and crying. He was going to be all right, and it was all thanks to the tiny blonde spitfire and her witch doctoring with seaweed and all sorts of other weird crap. His sister was holding Jasper's hand between her knees as she sat next to him cross-legged. He noticed the peaceful look on the sleeping boy's face. He'd heard the story from Finn how Jasper had saved Octavia from the river snake, and how he'd wanted to be the first to swing over to the base of Mount Weather in order to impress her. His sister seemed to rack up admirers left and right. But this one… Bellamy studied the boy. This dork wasn't so bad, he thought. Jasper had saved his sister's life and he owed him for that. In fact, he thought as Octavia stroked Jasper's chest, careful of his wound, he might have to save him from her when the boy woke up, rather than the other way around. He sighed. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it. In the meantime, there were plenty of other problems to deal with around here.

Speaking of which, "What the hell is your problem?" he asked Clarke. "You've been a bitch ever since we got back to camp."

She glared at him again. Or still? "You sent those two boys out to die! They'll never make it in this heat for two days without water. And what about the acid fog, and the grounders!"

He stared at her, incredulous. "Are you serious? You're complaining about me punishing the guys who would have killed Finn and raped you if they'd had half a chance, and likely wouldn't even have felt five seconds of guilt over it? I think the words you're looking for are 'thank you'."

"I'm not going to thank you for killing two people! You know that there are so few of us left, considering everything." She swallowed hard, and he guessed she was thinking of Wells, who had been murdered a few weeks back. "All life here is precious! And I don't think they would have done what you said. They're hungry, mean, and stupid, but they're just kids."

"You're an idiot." She bristled at that, and Octavia gave a quiet "hey!" of protest. "Yeah, don't like to hear that, princess? Well, too bad. You think Murphy's the only one who's messed up? Not by a long shot. Do you know what everyone was in jail for up there on that godforsaken Ark? Adam did, and he and I had some nice long chats about it. I needed to know who to watch around my sister. There are a lot of criminals down here, and the sooner you come to terms with that, the better. But, hey, it's your life, right? Wrong. Everyone who gets hurt, their lives are in your hands, too. So I'm going to keep you nice and safe, whether you like it or not, and whether you thank me for it or not. Jesus." He raked a hand through his hair and stalked over to the exit. He swung down the ladder with one fluid motion and was gone.

Clarke realized her jaw was hanging open, and closed it with a painful snap. "I can't believe that guy! What an ass!" She glanced over at Octavia. "Sorry, no offense."

Octavia gave her a reassuring grin. "Don't worry about it. You're right, he is an ass. He treats me the same way, and it drives me crazy sometimes. But he has a good heart, deep inside; he just can't let a lot of people see it. He has to stay strong and in charge, otherwise people wouldn't follow him. He's doing what he needs to do in order for us to survive."

Clarke gave the dark-haired girl a measuring look, then turned back to cleaning Finn's wound with water brewed with the red seaweed. "You're smarter than he gives you credit for," she said.

Octavia smiled brightly, "I know." She returned to stroking Jasper's hand.

XXXXX

The next day, Clarke was busy tidying up the "medical cabinet", a sideways-facing cubicle in the rear of the spaceship where she'd taken to storing their meager supplies, when the entry hatch burst open and three people spilled into the room. Bellamy, supported by Murphy and a muscular, unfamiliar girl whose name Clarke didn't know. They lowered him onto the makeshift table nearby, and Clarke noticed Bellamy's leg was bleeding from a cut high up on his right thigh.

She rushed over to them. "What happened?" She was already assessing Bellamy even as she asked the question. His olive skin was paler than usual, and his face was strained by pain, but overall he looked ok. His leg did not seem to be bleeding much at the moment, although it had obviously bled quite a bit into his cargo pants.

"We were salvaging another old automobile that was found about two miles south of the camp," the muscular girl replied, sliding her arm out from under Bellamy's shoulder. "The acid fog came up suddenly, and we had to make a run for it. Bellamy's leg got caught on a sharp edge of twisted metal from the auto's wreckage. He managed to make it almost back to camp before we even noticed anything was wrong, though."

"Stubborn bastard," Murphy grunted, as he pulled away as well. "Fix him," he told Clarke, "and be _real _careful about it."

Bellamy gave him a hard look, "Get out of here, both of you." Then, as the pair made their way to the hatch, he added, "and don't tell my sister, got it?" They both nodded. Murphy glared at Clarke over the lip of the hatch before they lowered it down behind them.

Bellamy and Clarke looked at each other in silence.

To break the sudden tension, Clarke said, "I think he's half in love with you," inclining her head toward the hatch.

Bellamy frowned. "Don't be ridiculous. Murphy's like a loyal dog, and he knows enough not to bite the hand that feeds him, that's all."

"You call your friend a dog, nice." Clarke shook her head and bent to look at the cut on Bellamy's thigh. "Anyway, this looks gross." She picked at the fabric of his cargos, stiff and crusty with dried blood.

"Gross?" Bellamy echoed. "Is that your professional opinion, doctor?"

She scowled at him. "Don't call me doctor."

"Whatever you say, princess."

Clarke sighed and dragged over a small stool, so she could look more closely at the wound at eye-level. This was going to be fun, she could already tell. "Are you really sure it's wise to antagonize the person who's going to have to repeatedly jab you with a nice long pointy needle?" He blanched, just a little, and she felt a frisson of irrational satisfaction wind through her. Ok, be serious, she told herself sternly. "Well, this is definitely going to need some stitches, and I'm going to have to clean out any bits of metal or fabric first. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

He shook his head.

"Ok, then, take off your pants." He looked startled, then belligerent, then sly.

"You're just making all my fantasies come true today, princess," he smirked.

She sighed again. The fun was just getting started.

XXXXX

Bellamy supported himself against the table with both hands in order to keep weight off his injured leg, and so it fell to Clarke to remove his pants. She had considered just cutting them to pieces, but felt that would be too cruel; they didn't have much in the way of spare clothing. So the pants had to come off, and she could tell herself whatever she wanted about clinical detachment, but she still felt warm as she unbuckled his belt and pulled it free with an angry _snap. _It didn't help that he was leering down at her. Not that she looked up to check, but she could feel it in her bones. She responded by involuntarily blushing, despite her best efforts to stop herself. She flushed and could feel the heat spread from her cheeks down her neck and chest.

Just ignore it, she told herself. Focus on the task at hand; pretend he's somebody else. It bothered her to think that she would have a different reaction to another patient, but she refused to dwell on that line of thought. So what if he had antagonized her, angered her, (and saved her from the pit trap). She'd seen him drunk on power during those first few days on Earth and almost endearingly vulnerable when Adam lay before him dying. He was the only one among the Hundred who was not a criminal, yet she often feared him more than the others. She knew he wanted to remove her monitoring cuff, and was fiercely afraid of losing that link to her mother and the Ark. He held so much power down here… But so did she, she reminded herself. She was their healer, despite the fact that she often felt inadequate to that task. She had done well so far, and she was proud of remembering much of what her mother had taught her. He couldn't harm her, not really, and if his overarching presence caused her some unease, as well as some uncomfortable dreams she refused to even think about in the daylight hours, then she would just have to deal with it. Professionally. She nodded briskly in her mind and undid the two buttons above his zipper.

She was almost startled to hear him chuckle low and deep above her, but she refused to let it show. She took a deep breath and raised her eyes. "I fail to see what's so funny about you bleeding all over the floor."

"You're red as a tomato," he observed.

She seethed. The insensitive jerk just had to bring that up. "It's hot in here." She reached up and gathered her hair into a ponytail, securing it with an elastic band as if to prove her point.

Bellamy considered her at this angle. With her hair up, he could see the delicate curve of her ear and neck, shaded pink with her blush. He followed the coloring down to the slope of her breasts where it disappeared beneath worn, gray fabric. Nice. Maybe he should stupidly maim himself more often. He realized she was still talking.

"You should take this more seriously. This injury could have been much worse. You're lucky you didn't sever your femoral artery."

"Yeah," he drawled, "I'm feeling super lucky."

She cleared her throat to cover the unsettling sound of his zipper sliding down. "Yes, well. You should. You would have bled out in seconds. Now shut up so I can concentrate."

"You've been doing most of the talking, princess. And how the hell much concentration do you need to take off a guy's pants? Just pretend they're Finn's." He loved needling this girl, he thought, watching her blush darken. In this toxic world where death could come at any minute, a guy had to enjoy what he could.

"_Excuse me_," she nearly growled, "I do not take off Finn's pants! He's my friend."

"Boyfriend," he insisted.

"Just friend," she replied firmly.

"Ouch, that's harsh. I sympathize with the dude, then. Friend-zoned on the brink of humanity's end. Don't you know we'll need to eventually repopulate the Earth, if we don't all die in the next few weeks?" He didn't think it was possible for her to flush a darker red, but she proved him wrong. He chuckled. "What's the big deal? Future babies aside, it's just sex. Down here, there are no rules, remember? No prim and proper society dictating who marries whom, how many children people are allowed to have. It's all good."

At this, she finally had to look up. "Are you insane? It's all good? What planet do you think you landed on, because this is Earth. It's only been 97 years and the ground, the water, the very air we breathe is still likely soaked with radiation. The Ark floating in space, the Ark that my mother is on, has precious few months of air left. Everyone is counting on us to let them know it's safe to come down here, which you've made really damn difficult, by the way. Every day down here is a struggle. We don't have enough food, getting water takes miles of walking, more people are going Lord of the Flies crazy with each passing day, my friends are constantly injured or dying, and you think I'm worried about _a boyfriend? _That is literally the last thing on my mind, and if it's not the last thing on yours, you're delusional."

"Hey," she could tell he was offended. "Relax. You think I don't realize the dangers we're all facing? You might think I'm just a jackass, but I take the responsibility of keeping my sister alive seriously. And, yeah, others around here look up to me, so they're sort of my responsibility too. If I can get a few hours of stress-free relief with a girl or two in the meantime, then who's to say that's a bad thing? We could all be dead tomorrow. It's ok to enjoy a moment of happiness."

"You know what constitutes a moment of happiness for me?" She had stood up and was facing him now, more or less eye to eye since he was slumping down against the table. "When I hear Jasper talking quietly with your sister, or when I see Finn's even breathing after giving him a dose of sleeping tea I brewed, knowing it's helping him to heal. Or when I look at my cuff and think, 'Thank God that_ jackass _hasn't taken this off me yet, because it lets my mom know I'm alive'. Those are my moments of happiness. Not some sweaty five minute grab-ass session in a dilapidated tent made out of tarp and leaves."

He stared at her for a minute, nostrils flaring slightly from the anger he was holding in check. He let out a long breath. "Now I get it, you're a virgin. That explains a lot." He looked her up and down, then shrugged, as if dismissing their whole argument. "This is like talking to a wall, in that case."

Clarke felt something snap inside her mind, a fragile thread of sanity that Bellamy had been straining ever since she first heard him ordering the drop ship's door to be opened after the crash. She felt an eerie calm descend over her. "Yes, I'm a virgin. Not that it's any of your business, but it's certainly not a secret, either. I'm not ashamed of it. I'd rather be known as a virgin than a whore that's been through half the camp. And even if I believed what you said just now, there isn't a guy around here who even remotely interests me."

She sniffed imperiously.

He furrowed his brows.

She lowered her head to hide her grin. Oh, that had stung him. He might not be interested in her physically, but no guy liked to be dismissed. Ha! It would do him some good, taking down his ego a notch or two. Her eyes landed, rather unfortunately, on the muscles of his abdomen, clearly defined even through his thin, torn tank top. No matter what she told him, or herself, she would have to be blind not to notice his appeal. His personality was annoying beyond belief more often than not, but the phrase tall, dark, and handsome had been coined with men like Bellamy Blake in mind. His thick hair was long and unruly, and his clothing, worn and dirty as everyone else's, did little to hide a strong, lithe body. At twenty, he was the oldest of them, a natural leader, clever, cruel, and hot-headed. And here she was, taking off his pants.

Clarke steeled her resolve. Her mother was the finest doctor on the Ark and had taught her how to suture a cut. The rest of the body didn't matter right now. Isolate the injury, focus. Clarke efficiently finished stripping off the cargo pants, folded them neatly, and placed them over his lap and left leg, leaving his right leg bare. She did it so quickly, she saw nothing she oughtn't, and if her belly was a giant knot and the back of her throat was dry as an Earthen desert, then nobody would know it but herself. With steady hands, she gently held his leg in place and bent to clean his wound of debris with painstaking care.

She's no fun at all, Bellamy thought, gazing down at the curly blonde ponytail hovering tantalizingly close to his lap. She might be aggravating and holier-than-though, but he was a young man, and he couldn't help but appreciate that view. Fragments of their previous argument ran through his head, and he had to admit he respected her commitment to helping her friends and family survive. She was level-headed, unlike his sister, and he liked that she held her own arguing with him. For a girl, she had some balls. His own, he noted, were completely covered, thanks to her precise placement of his folded pants. He grinned, thinking it was for the best. It would be damn inconvenient for the virginal healer to pass out at the sight of his massive…

"GODDAMNIT!" he shouted, all traces of his grin gone.

Clarke glanced up at him and found him ashen-faced with pain. "It's deep," she said. "Not to the bone, but almost. You're lucky," she repeated

He grunted, gripping the tabletop as she prodded and probed at him. She seemed to be finished picking out any debris, but still took her sweet time examining the wound, leaning her head in close.

"Look, either fix my leg or blow me, but don't just sit there staring," he snapped.

She glared up at him reproachfully, but swallowed any retort she had been about to make. "You need stitches. It's going to hurt. I can't give you any medicine for the pain except the sleeping tea."

"No," he said.

"But –"

"No!" It was definitive.

Clarke nodded, then unfolded herself from the stool and walked over to her cabinet. She came back with a half-full bottle of whiskey. "At least drink some of this. It might thin your blood a little, but it'll help lessen the pain. Fair warning, though, it tastes awful."

He raised an eyebrow as he took it from her, twisting off the cap smoothly. "And you know that how?"

She resumed her seat. As she readied the needle and thread from the ship's woefully inadequate emergency kit, she began to tell him the story of the night she'd spent with Finn and Wells in the first old auto they'd found, hiding from the acid fog. Her voice was soothing, and the alcohol muted the sting of the first few stitches. After that, the pain was a dull, constant throb, and it was tolerably easy to ignore as he listened to her speak. Bellamy took yet another swig of whiskey then set the bottle aside, belatedly realizing it should be rationed. Clarke's low voice reminded him of how she had hummed to Adam, comforting him as she did what needed to be done. What Bellamy couldn't do himself, or wouldn't. She'd hum to him if he was dying, too, he realized. But not today, not just yet.

XXXXX

A fine woman, Bellamy thought, as he watched her work. Or girl, rather. She was maybe seventeen? He wasn't sure, only that she was under eighteen, otherwise she would have been Judged already. He watched her small but capable hands as they made neat little stitches in his flesh. The black lines wove and twisted in his vision, and he put a hand over his eyes. Too much whiskey, he thought.

She noticed his movement and glanced up. "What's wrong?" She sounded concerned.

He looked down at her and wondered when was the last time anyone had been concerned about him, other than his sister. Even his mother didn't care much, always preferring Octavia's company. Then she had been floated and it didn't matter what she preferred anymore. She was dead all the same.

"Nothing," he told her quietly. "Finish up."

If she noticed his change in mood, she didn't remark on it. She looked at him another moment or two then returned to her sewing.

They sat in silence until she said, "Done. Twenty-two stitches total, and I did a good job with them if I say so myself. They're straight and even." She cracked her neck and smiled up at him.

He had a sudden desire to kiss her, to taste her, to absorb some of her strength, because it was true and pure and his own was fading fast. His eyes slid over to her little mole and he wanted to lick it, then down to the gleaming metal band on her wrist, which he'd have to take off sooner or later and she'll hate him for it.

By then, she had begun to carefully bandage his leg. "Keep this clean and dry," she was saying. "We don't have a lot of bandages, but we have enough that I can change it in a couple days. By then, with luck, the wound should be healing. I'll make you some of the seaweed tea as well. Drink that twice a day and it should hold off infection."

She rose, noting the considerably less-full whiskey bottle, but again said nothing. She went to the cabinet and began to measure red powder into a bag of water.

He watched her for a moment, admiring the view from behind. Then he glanced over at Finn. He kind of liked the guy. He was smart and brave. He watched over Clarke and kept her safe. He probably wouldn't have liked how close and personal she and Bellamy had been forced to get just now. Bellamy grinned. Too bad, kid. You snooze, you lose. He grabbed his pants and gingerly pulled them on, testing his weight on his leg. He took a few steps toward Clarke. It would hold.

"You do good work, doc," he told her.

She turned back to him, one hand on her hip, "I told you not to call me –"

He kissed her, quick and hard and unexpected. He pulled back. She looked at him in wonder and her eyes glittered in the dim light, pupils dilated.

"Why did you do that?" she asked.

"To shut you up," he offered hoarsely, teasing to diffuse the tension of the moment. When she just looked at him steadily, he swallowed. "I'm not sure," he said honestly. "Because I wanted to?"

She bit her bottom lip and his eyes traced the small gesture. "What if I want you to again?" This time the question was a whisper.

He surged forward, kissing her deeply, burying his hands in her hair and loosening it from its ponytail. He slid one hand down the back of her neck, drawing her close to him. Her arms came up around him almost automatically, clutching at his back. She had dropped the bag, and it lay at her feet.

He caressed her arms, her waist, her breasts. He backed her into the cabinet and as he kissed her beneath her ear, he picked her up and put her on the ledge, reaching down to bring her legs around him. He kissed his way back to her mouth and realized with a twinge of hurt that he might not get this opportunity again.

Clarke felt hot all over, dizzy. His hands were everywhere and she could feel his body between her thighs, but she couldn't bring herself to think that it was wrong. It felt good and allowed her a moment to forget everything.

It was this thought that drew her sharply back to reality. She couldn't forget, not ever. Not for a moment, not with everything at stake. With an effort, she shoved him away and put several feet between them, hopping down to stand on unsteady feet.

They were both breathing hard.

"I'm not going to say I'm sorry," he said finally. "Because that'd be a lie and you know it. I don't think you're sorry either."

"I never said that I was." She thought it was odd that she could sound so calm. "It was just adrenaline, the heat of the moment. No big deal." She reached down for the water bag, but he beat her to it.

He snatched it up. "Bullshit. It was a pretty big fucking deal, Clarke. I wanted you, and whether you admit it or not, in those couple of minutes, you actually wanted me, too. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Stop putting words in my mouth. I didn't say I was ashamed. It… happened. Fine. Can we just get over it?"

He smiled at her wickedly then leaned in close. Her heart stopped, and she didn't know whether to push him away again or pull him even closer. But he just said quietly above her ear, "I don't know. Can we?"

He drew back, and she shivered despite the heat of the chamber. He said, "I don't really think we can. But we can try, if you want. For now." He took the bag and limped toward the hatch. She almost said something, but hesitated, and he was gone a second later.

Clarke looked down at her hands, still spotted with his blood, then over at Finn and Jasper sleeping comfortably on their pallets. This was important: her work, her friends, her mission to help her mother and the people on the Ark. But maybe there was room for something else. Something that had a chance of becoming important as well.

She smiled, and began to clean up the mess.


End file.
